


Kings of New York

by lipsstainedbloodred



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: M/M, and neil is the reporter that he falls in love with, brief descriptions of violence, commission piece, in which andrew leads the newsies strike, newsies au, some abelist language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-25 13:38:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17122397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: Andrew and Aaron have grown up on the streets of New York. Andrew's always dreamed of leaving this town, and when his gang of newsies go on strike and he's forced to choose between them or his brother he thinks he may finally get a chance to escape. Though a reporter with a pretty face and silver tongue may make that just a little more difficult than Andrew originally thought.





	Kings of New York

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Anna.

Early morning, before the sun has started to rise, and even before the morning bell has rung, has always been Andrew’s favorite time of day. The streets of New York below, never quite quiet, but hushed in the blue black darkness with the stars and moon their only source of light. Andrew Minyard has never liked New York. A too bright, too crowded city full of violence and danger. He’s always liked the idea of a small town, people keeping their mouths shut and watching each other’s backs. It’s like nothing he’s ever known. Andrew and his twin Aaron had been born and raised as gutter rats; their worthless mother Tilda dying on them before they were old enough to read. Since then they’ve only had each other, unable and unwilling to trust anyone else. 

 

Andrew tears his eyes away from the skyline when he hears Aaron shifting around behind him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Andrew asks, taking a drag from the cigarette nestled sweetly between his fingers.

 

“I’m gonna get a head start to the  _ World _ ,” Aaron says and Andrew hears the  _ clunk  _ of his crutch against the rough metal of the rafters.

 

“Morning bell ain’t even rung yet,” Andrew says and turns to face his twin. They’re mirror images of each other, except for Aaron’s mangled right leg that never did heal right from the fall he’d taken when they were kids. 

 

“I’m slow,” Aaron says, “and this fuckin’ thing hurts like hell today, so I’m going to get a head start.” 

 

Andrew raises an eyebrow as if to say  _ ‘go ahead and try’ _ . 

 

Aaron stares at his twin defiantly, heading for the ladder that leads down to the streets below. He sits at the top of the ladder, dropping his crutch next to him so he can twist to grab the rungs. His foot twists awkwardly under him and Aaron slips, grasping at the top of the ladder desperately with a short yell. 

 

Andrew darts forward and snatches Aaron up under the arms, pulling him back up to safety. Andrew hides his panic under a mask of apathy and a heavy sigh. 

 

“Fuck off,” Aaron hisses, mouth twisted into a snarl. 

 

“That’s my line,” Andrew says. 

 

Aaron shoves his shoulder into Andrew’s chest, a little harder than if he were joking. Andrew knows he’s just in pain and taking it out on Andrew so he restrains himself from throwing his brother off the side of the railing. 

 

“What’s your problem?” Andrew asks. 

 

“Nothing,” Aaron spits, mouth twisted into a grimace, “just...everything hurts and I’m tired of it.”

 

“I know,” Andrew says, “don’t take your bad attitude out on me.”

 

Aaron runs a hand over his face, “I know.” He takes a deep breath and lets it okay, “I know, okay? Can we get goin’?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. Hey don’t forget your scarf it’s fucking freezing today.”

 

“It’s freezing every day. It’s fuckin’ New York.”

 

A bell tolls, the sun not yet making its way up past the hazy dusk of morning. Aaron, despite his annoyed muttering, obediently fetches his scarf and winds it around his neck. Andrew shrugs on his vest and fits a page boy cap over his mess of blonde bed head. 

 

“Ay, Matthew! Seth! Renee! You better be up before I get down there!” Andrew calls down the ladder to the slats below. 

 

“Waitin’ on you and the crip, asshole!” Seth’s voice calls back. 

 

Aaron spits over the side of the railing in the direction of Seth’s voice. He thrusts his crutch against Andrew’s chest before gripping the ladder again and heading down to join the others. 

 

Once on the ground Andrew sets off in the direction of the _ New York World _ , letting Aaron and the other newsies rail behind him. Renee Walker keeps pace with Aaron, her white blonde hair shoved up into a cap and cross tucked beneath the too large shirt she’d inherited from Andrew. One of the few girls that hides amongst the newsie boys, and one of the fewer that attends the church on sundays that occasionally feeds them all. 

 

Matt Boyd swings an arm around Seth Gordon’s shoulder, their long legs keeping and easy loping stride next to Andrew’s. Seth curses and shoves his shoulder into Matt’s ribs, knocking him off course and making Matt laugh. 

 

Andrew ignores them both, despite Boyd’s obvious attempt at getting Andrew’s attention. They’d worked together for years now, since Andrew had pulled Boyd out of a gutter and sobered him up, but Andrew was above things like friends. Debts, promises, payments; those were the only things Andrew needed in his life. 

 

“Hey Minyard,” Matt says, taking a longer step and turning so he could walk backwards and face Andrew. His crooked grin shines in the brightening morn. If Andrew was pressed he would almost say that Matt Boyd was handsome, despite his crooked nose and perpetually bruised knuckles. “Knox over in Queens bet me a nickel I could outsell you this week. You want in?”

 

“I don’t gamble,” Andrew says, “and you shouldn’t take losin’ bets.”

 

Matt mock gasps and presses a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded- truly, deeply.”

 

Seth kicks Matt’s ankle to make him stumble. “The fuck you take that bet for?” He asks, “No one’s outsold Minyard and the cripple since they started sellin’ for the  _ World _ and no one’s ever gonna.”

 

“A man’s gotta dream, Gordon,” Matt says and turned his cheery face back front. “I got a lady to provide for now.”

 

“Bullshit,” Seth says, gaping, and then at Matt’s sly grin adds, “No shit? You really did it?”

 

“Did you knock her up?” Aaron asks. 

 

Matt sends Aaron a frown over his shoulder. “No I didn’t knock her up, but she agreed to marry me just the same.”

 

“Dan’s a great girl,” Renee says, “I wish you both all the happiness in the world.”

 

Andrew rolls his eyes and pushes to the front of the group as they approach the gates of the  _ World _ . “Shut up,” He says, “they’re putting the headlines up now.”

 

Seth shoves himself up against the gates and groans. “It’s the fuckin’ trolley strike again?”

 

“Again?” Matt asks, “That’s the third week in a row. They gotta know headlines like that don’t sell.”

 

“We’re gonna make ‘em sell,” Andrew says. 

 

Two men come to unlock the front gates for them, the Moriyama brothers clad in black with knife cut smiles and slicked back black hair. Pinned to the lapel of the older brother’s button down shirt is a Raven with ruby encrusted eyes. Andrew’s sorely tempted to steal it right from under his nose. The urge only grows as the younger brother leans against the gate and says, “Boss let us rough up some of those trolley strikers the other day, just in case you were thinkin’ of tryin’ anything funny.”

 

“We’ll keep that in mind,” Andrew says dryly, muscling past the Moriyama brothers, his group trailing behind him. 

 

The younger Moriyama, Riko, smacks Aaron’s crutch from his hand. “Oops,” Riko drawls, “maybe you should watch where you’re goin’.”

 

Matt surges forward, hand already forming a fist at his side, but Andrew steps in front of him. He bends down to pick up his brother’s crutch, sending it sharply upwards into Riko’s crotch and making him cry out and double over. “Oops,” Andrew says, “maybe you should pay attention to where you’re standin’.”

 

“You should show more respect,” the older brother, Ichirou, hisses. 

 

“As soon as someone deservin’ of it shows up I will,” Andrew says, “as it is-“ he shrugs and hands Aaron his crutch back. 

 

Ichirou gives him an acidic look and grabs Riko by the arm, dragging him out of the yard and into the building behind them. 

 

Matt snorts, an aborted attempt at smothering a laugh. “Some day you gotta let me beat ‘em bloody,” He says. 

 

“Some day,” Andrew agrees. 

 

Aaron knocks his shoulder against Andrew’s and walks further into the yard, leaning up against a post with a cross look on his face. Andrew can see the pain lining the frown lines marking his twin’s face and makes a split second decision to keep him close today. He rattles his brain to think of the last of the money they have in their change jar, how much he’ll have to cut back on food rations to afford something to ease the pain for Aaron just a little bit. 

 

He’s jolted back into the present by Tetsuji Moriyama, the brothers uncle, whistling at the newsies to get their attention. “C’mon and get your papers,” He snaps, “we don’t have all day.”

 

Andrew puts down a quarter each for him and Aaron and gathers their papers together into their bags. He’s listening to Seth and Matt arguing in the background at who is going to sell more that day when someone new catches his eye. 

 

His tanned hands are wrapped too tight around a too new messenger bag, the shoes on his feet barely worn. His clothes, too, looked lived in but nice, too nice for a gutter rat. “Hey,” Andrew barks and green eyes catch his, skittish but not really afraid. 

 

“What?” The boy asks, tightening his hold on his bag.

 

“You’re new around here,” Andrew says, “and you don’t exactly look like the rest of us urchins livin’ on the streets. Maybe we don’t want to share our papers with you.”

 

“And who are you to make that decision?” The boy says, straightening up. At full height he has more than a foot on Andrew, but Andrew’s not worried. 

 

“He’s Andrew Minyard,” Matt says from behind Andrew. “You know, the kid that escaped the Refuge in the back of the Governor’s cart?”

 

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” The boy says, “my family doesn’t really associate with criminals.” 

 

“Being orphaned isn’t a crime,” Renee says gently, “and Andrew saved his brother’s life by leaving. Sometimes the system put in place is just there to hurt people.”

 

“You’re a girl,” The boy says, surprised. 

 

“Observant,” Andrew says sarcastically, “and smart mouthed. You’re clearly not homeless, so why are you here?”

 

“That’s not your business.”

 

“We say it is,” Seth says, “and we outnumber you.”

 

The boy clenches his hands. Andrew notices a scar along the back of his left hand, his knuckles going the same white silver of the scar. Then his shoulders drop, sensing defeat. “My dad broke his hip in a work accident and lost his job. Mom died a long time ago so he’s counting on me to do something until he can find a job again.”

 

“What’s your name?” Andrew asks. 

 

“Kevin,” The boy says, “Kevin Wymack-Day.”

 

“Hm,” Andrew says, and reaches up to press his fingers to Kevin’s neck to feel his pulse rabbit up against his skin. Andrew taps his fingers there for a moment before saying, “if I find out you’re lying to me-“

 

“I’m not,” Kevin says, almost desperately. 

 

“Get your papers.” Andrew steps out of the way, letting his hand slip from Kevin’s skin and fall to his side. 

 

Kevin nods and heads over to Tetsuji. With his back turned to the rest of them Andrew nods at Matt.

 

Matt and Seth relax. Andrew has made his decision. Kevin will be allowed to be one of his. 

 

Later that night Andrew bumps into Kevin again quite physically, rounding the corner and almost knocking himself over with the force of the impact. 

 

“You again?” Kevin asks. 

 

“ _ You _ bumped into  _ me _ ,” Andrew says. He takes in the empty cloth bag over Kevin’s shoulder. “I take it you sold your papers.”

 

“Yes,” Kevin says, giving Andrew a dirty look, “I still think it’s stupid that we can’t sell back any papers we don’t sell.”

 

“That’s the business for you,” Andrew says, “and congratulations, at least I know you’re not completely useless.” 

 

Kevin opens his mouth, likely to defend himself, when movement to the right catches Andrew’s eye. He hastily reaches up to shove a hand over Kevin’s mouth, ignoring the muffled indignant sound he makes. 

 

Andrew quickly searches the alley and then up, to the fire escape. He sees the flash of metal that caught his eye, a silver tie pin in the moonlight. Panic and anger hit in equal measure and Andrew says, “run.”

 

“What?”

 

“Minyard!” Calls the man above them. 

 

“Run!” Andrew snaps, and grabs Kevin by the sleeve, yanking him along after him. Andrew can barely hear the pounding of footsteps behind them over the rush of blood in his ears. 

 

They duck into an alley to climb up into the skyline before dropping down to the streets again. Andrew’s pretty sure they’ve lost the man- after all, Proust is heavy set and well into his fifties- but he keeps running anyway. Eventually he heaves his shoulder into the door at the top of a theatre and hauls Kevin inside behind him, slamming the door shut. 

 

Kevin pants, hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. “What the fuck was that about?” Kevin asks, out of breath. 

 

“Proust.” Andrew hisses, shoving something heavy up against the door just in case. Proust has never found Andrew’s secret entrance into Mrs. Dobson’s theatre, but paranoia has saved Andrew’s life before and he’s not one to play reckless. 

 

“Who?” Kevin asks, bewildered. 

 

“Of course you don’t- Proust. Kids around the city call him the Spider. Gets paid for locking kids up in that Refuge of his and the city treats him like a fuckin’ hero, but he pockets all the money and he’s never known how to keep his hands to himself.”

 

“What does he want with you?”

 

“Simple. I’m the one that got away, and I took my brother with me. I made him look like a laughingstock so he wants his revenge.”

 

“Oh,” Kevin says and then looks around. “What is this place? Minyard are we breaking and entering?” His voice hitches up at the end, like the thought of committing a crime is horrifying. 

 

“Andrew is free to come and go as he wishes,” says a voice from down below, “though I do wish he’d come visit more often.”

 

“Hey Bee,” Andrew says, leaning over the railing to look down on the stage. The woman below is in her mid fifties, long hair streaked with gray drawn up into a graceful bun and broad shouldered form draped in a white satin gown. 

 

Betsy smiles up at them. She’s a matronly looking woman, face wrinkled with laugh lines and hands forever forgetting near her throat. “Come on down here, boys,” she says. 

 

Andrew pushes Kevin toward the ladder and they both descend down to the stage. Kevin gives Betsy a shaky smile and offers her a hand, looking visibly shocked when she pulls him into a gentle hug. 

 

“Andrew I’m so proud of you,” Betsy says, “out there making friends.”

 

“We’re not friends,” Andrew and Kevin say in unison. 

 

Betsy hums and lets Kevin go. “Well, you’re welcome here anyway.” 

 

“What is this place?” Kevin asks. 

 

“This is the Bumbling Bee Theatre Co., Mr-?”

 

“Wymack-Day. Uh, Kevin Wymack-Day.”

 

“Mr. Wymack-Day.”

 

“Lovely,” Andrew says, “We’ll be leavin’ now, Bee.”

 

“Oh stay a while, won’t you?” Betsy asks, “We’re about to start a show, and don’t think I’ve forgotten to pay you for your backdrop.” She gestures to a large set piece, a mountain among swirls of pinks and purple clouds. 

 

“I’ve got to get back to Aaron.”

 

“I’m sure Aaron is just fine with Matt and Renee,” Betsy says, “or Katelyn.”

 

Andrew grimaces at the thought of that. Andrew and Aaron had promised each other long ago that no one would ever separate them. They would be brothers, best friends. They would not have other friends and they would not date. But Aaron had been going behind his back for months now, breaking his promises, and Andrew was so angry he wasn’t able to let his brother go. Bee tried to help, allowing him a place to go when he couldn’t stand to be near his brother. Katelyn was the wedge between them, making them splinter, and Andrew hated her. 

 

“You really painted this?” Kevin asks, oblivious to the obvious tension between Andrew and Betsy. He’d moved closer to the set piece, his hand running gently over paint Andrew had spent entire days working on. The canvas was twice as tall as Andrew and almost twice as wide. 

 

“Yeah,” Andrew says. It takes visible effort for him to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 

 

“It’s beautiful,” Kevin says honestly. 

 

“It’s alright.”

 

“It is beautiful,” Betsy says proudly, “and I will pay you for it Andrew.”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Andrew says. 

 

“I do,” Betsy says, “and I will.”

 

Andrew waves her off. 

 

“Betsy?”

 

A woman walks onto the stage holding a clipboard. Her dark hair is tied back and light blue dress makes her dark skin glow. She’s not Andrew’s type but judging from the way Kevin’s jaw drops she might be his. 

 

“Oh hello Thea,” Betsy says, “is it time to start the show?”

 

“Yes,” Thea says.

 

“Thank you,” Betsy says, “why don’t you show Mr. Wymack-Day to a seat? Andrew you should head up to the guest box.”

 

Andrew frowns, “why?”

 

Betsy smiles, “Just trust me. It’s a surprise.”

 

Betsy shoos then off in time to start her vaudeville show, singing a song to the gathering audience about riches and men. After her is a group of girls in lovely pink dresses, their hair tied up away from their faces. Andrew stands around for a while before heading up the ladder to the guest box. 

 

Betsy’s surprises generally involve food- a handle of rye whiskey, a cup of coffee with good milk, a plate of toast and honey- but this time it takes the form of a pretty red head in a suit, tie askew with the tip a pen in his mouth. 

 

Andrew leans up against the wall, arms crossed over his vest. His boot scrapes the ground and the red head looks up, frowning at him. 

 

“Who are you?” He asks, “This is supposed to be a private box.”

 

Oh, Betsy knows Andrew has a type and those blue eyes glaring at him have fire behind them. “It is,” Andrew says, “and I have permission to be here.”

 

“Oh,” The redhead says, furrowing his eyebrows, “well just be quiet I guess. I’m working.” He turns back to the show, tapping his pen on a sheet of paper cradled in his lap. 

 

Andrew stays quiet for a moment before saying, “What are you working on?”

 

The redhead sighs, visibly annoyed. “A review,” He says. 

 

“A review? You’re a reporter?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“What’s your name?”

 

“If I tell you will you let me watch the show?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The red head hesitates. “My pen name is Neil Josten.”

 

“Josten,” Andrew says, like he’s tasting the ways the name sounds on his tongue. After that he’s silent, listening to the girls sing on stage and watching Neil. One song fades into another. “What paper do you write for?”

 

Neil’s pen skids on his paper. “You’re impossible,” He hisses. 

 

Andrew shrugs. 

 

“The  _ Sun _ ,” Neil says, “satisfied?”

 

“I’m never satisfied.”

 

Neil rolls his eyes. “You might as well tell me your name. That way I have someone to blame when my editor asks why my review isn’t finished.”

 

“Andrew Minyard,” Andrew says. 

 

“Alright Andrew,” Neil says, “leave me alone now, please.”

 

Andrew bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t like that word.”

 

“Noted. Fuck off then.”

 

Andrew presses two fingers to his temple and then flicks them in a mock salute. Neil turns back to the show, hunched back over his paper. Andrew leaves and finds Kevin waiting for him. 

 

“Did you figure out what Betsy was talking about?” Kevin asks, “Your surprise.”

 

“We should go.” 

 

They part ways outside the theatre and Andrew heads back home. He climbs the ladder to the top of the riser, feeling the familiar clench in his stomach from climbing so high. He sees Aaron tucked into his knapsack, ratty blankets piled high and crutch leaning against the railing. Andrew settles himself in his own knapsack and falls asleep thinking about blue eyes and ink smudged fingers. 

 

The next morning dawns the same as any other. Andrew leads the other newsies to the gates of the  _ World _ , ignoring Matt and Seth’s playful ribbing and Renee’s gentle humming. They must be running late because when they approach the gates Kevin is already there, his hands tight on his bag and an angry look on his face. 

 

“Wow,” Seth says, “What’s stuck up your ass?”

 

“Have you seen the headline?”

 

“Obviously not,” Andrew says, “we just got here.”

 

“Look!” Kevin gestures angrily behind him. 

 

“Newsies papers cost goes up ten cents,” Seth reads, “Are they fuckin’ joking?”

 

“That has to be a mistake,” Matt says. 

 

“They can’t do this to us,” Aaron says, “we’re broke enough as it is. They can’t just make us pay more without askin’.”

 

“They can,” Kevin says angrily, “Newsies aren’t a union.”

 

“Everyone shut up,” Andrew says. Inside anger spills like hot lava across his veins. This has Nathan Wesninski’s stink all over it. Nathan Wesninski was the owner of the  _ World _ and ran half of New York with it. Wesninski probably thinks he can get away with stealing their money without a fight, that they will all roll over like dogs, but there’s not a kid in this city that wouldn’t put up a fight when faced with something like this. Today it’s ten cents more, but what’s to stop Wesninski from raising it another ten? or a quarter? or more? “Kevin’s right, we’re not a union. But we could be.”

 

Matt and Seth’s declarations of “Yes!” drown out Kevin’s cry of “What?”

 

“Wesninski has to know that shit like this won’t work on us,” Matt says. 

 

“We’ll do just like those trolley workers and have Wesninski eatin’ out of the palm of our hands,” Seth says. 

 

“You aren’t a union just because you say so,” Kevin says crossly, “There’s paperwork. Regulations. Meetings.”

 

“Every union has to start somewhere,” Renee says, “I don’t see why it can’t start here and now.”

 

“Right,” Kevin says sarcastically, “and just who will be our president, huh?” 

 

“Andrew? He’s already been leading us for years,” Matt says, jerking his head down at Andrew. 

 

“No,” Andrew says. 

 

“It was your idea, genius,” Aaron says, “reap what you sow or burn the field down.”

 

Andrew gives Aaron a dirty look and resists the urge to kick his crutch out from under him. “Fine,” he spits, “then my first act as president is to declare us as officially on strike. Tomorrow we’ll come and put a stop to them wagons but for today we just need to spread the word.”

 

“I’ll take Queens,” Matt says, “Knox and I get on like house fire.”

 

“I’ll take Manhattan,” Seth says, “Moreau and I used to be neighbors when we were kids. He might still remember me.”

 

“Kat’s got family in Harlem,” Aaron says, purposefully not looking at his brother, “I can head that way.”

 

“And who’s going to talk to Sonny in Brooklyn?” Andrew asks. 

 

Seth ducks his head and kicks a rock, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

 

Renee puts her hand on Seth’s arm. “I’ll talk to Allison,” she says. 

 

“Good,” Andrew says, “I want them all here tomorrow morning when the gates open.”

 

“A strike?” A voice says, amused, “Now that’s front page worthy.”

 

Andrew turns toward the voice. Neil Josten from the night before looks unfairly handsome in smart navy blue suit and polished shoes, his auburn hair slicked back. He’s sporting a bruise on his left cheekbone that wasn’t there when he was seated in the guest box at Bee’s vaudeville show, and Andrew finds himself irritatingly wanting to touch it. He’s carrying a little pad of paper and a pen, ink stained fingers flipping the little pad of paper open.

 

“Who the fuck are you?” Seth asks, scowling.

 

“Were you spying on us?” Kevin asks, narrowing his eyes.

 

Neil raises an eyebrow, “It’s hardly spying when we’re all standing out on the street now, is it?”

 

“Cut the shit, Josten, what do you want?” Andrew says. Matt mouths  _ ‘Josten?’ _ at Renee who shakes her head and gives a small  _ ‘I don’t know’ _ gesture. Aaron’s gaze burns holes in the side of Andrew’s face.

 

Neil’s lips turn up in a little half smile. It’s mean, like a butcher’s knife, and Andrew knows he’s seen it before but he can’t quite place it. “The same thing every journalist wants, Minyard. I’m lookin’ for a story, and I think I’ve found one.”

 

“We don’t need you,” Andrew says.

 

“You do,” Neil replies, “You’re gonna need all the help you can get, and I’m willing to give it to you. Having the press on your side could be the thing that helps you win this. You think Wesninski is going to care about a bunch of snot nosed brats trying to stop him from running papers? He’ll bulldoze you-”

 

“You seem to know a lot about Wesninski.”

 

Neil’s hand tightens around his pen and then relaxes, “I know a lot about a lot of things. And even if your strike does work, then what? What’s to stop them from doing it to more kids, other kids? Maybe it’s time to take a stand, and I can help you do that.”

 

“Who says I care about other kids? It’s a cruel world,” Andrew says. 

 

“Andrew,” Renee admonishes softly, touching a hand to her chest to lay over the cross hidden beneath her shirt.

 

“It’s not the world that’s cruel, it’s the people in it.” Neil states this like truth, and he’s just earnest enough that Andrew can’t really deny him.

 

“Do what you want,” Andrew says, “Be here tomorrow at sunrise if you want your story.”

 

Neil throws Andrew a two fingered salute, a mimic of the one Andrew had given him last night, and strolls away.

 

Andrew turns around to his group staring at him and he glares. “What are you all still doing here? Get the fuck out of my face.”

 

The newsies scatter but for Kevin, whose hands are still clenched around his bag like it’s a lifeline. “Andrew I need money for my family, I can’t just go on strike.” Kevin says.

 

“If your father had been part of a union, don’t you think they would have looked after him after his accident? Paid his hospital bills? Looked after you? Your father shouldn’t have gotten fired for a work accident, Kevin. Do what you have to do, I don’t care, but I’m not going to change my mind. If we don’t put a stop to this now, what’s to stop them from taking more later?”

 

Kevin jerked his shoulders down, “My dad has only ever wanted me to do what’s right.”

 

“Then do it.”

 

“Fuck,” Kevin says, “Fine. Okay. I’m with you.”

 

“Good,” Andrew says, “Go home to your father and tell him what’s happening. We have work to do.” 

 

Andrew looks up at the  _ World  _ building and sees a curtain fall back over a high window before he leaves, head ducked down and hands tucked tight into his pockets.

 

The next morning dawns dark and dreary, clouds rumbling gray and fat over the New York City skyline, the promise and smell of rain hanging heavy in the air. Andrew wakes alone, teeth chattering and hands shaking beneath the haphazard throw of blankets atop him. Aaron is somewhere else, warmer and drier because as the clouds had rolled in the previous night Andrew had refused to let Aaron stay out in the cold. He’s down further in the slats, sharing a mattress and blankets with Renee. 

 

Andrew takes the time to roll his sleeves up right and slick his hair back, doing up the buttons on his vest with trembling fingers. It’s colder than cold this morning, the air thick with mist and anticipation.

 

“Andrew!” Aaron calls, “Get your ass up! Let’s go!”

 

Andrew doesn’t deign to answer, but does knock a shoe down over the railing just to be petty. Once safely down off the ladder Renee greets Andrew with a smile and a scarf and he snatches it from her hands to wrap around his neck.

 

Matt waves. He’s wearing gloves this morning, though the thumb and pinkie on the left hand are left bare. He grins, fierce and unapologetic. “Ready?” He asks.

 

“Go gather the others. I’ll be waitin’ for you at the  _ World _ .” Andrew says.

 

The group splits and Andrew makes his way to the  _ World _ . Renee is the first to show up after Andrew, her hands spread apologetically. “Allison says she wants to wait and see if today is going to work before she invests the time in bringing the Brooklyn newsies here.” 

 

Andrew grits his teeth in frustration. “Of course she is.”

 

“She’s scared, Andrew.” Renee says, “She doesn’t want to put her people in danger.”

 

“And I do?” Andrew asks. It’s a rhetorical question. They both know Andrew would rather chew off his own leg than put his family in danger.

 

“We can do this,” Renee says, “I have faith in us.”

 

“Faith isn’t enough,” Andrew says, “We need manpower.”

 

The clunking sound of wood against the sidewalk signals Aaron’s arrival. His clenched jaw and anger in his eyes are the twin of his brother’s. “Harlem said they’re waitin’ to see what Sonny’s going to do.”

 

“Moreau said the same thing,” Seth says, coming up the alley behind Aaron.

 

Matt shows up a little later and says the same thing about Knox, his hands spread placatingly as he tells Andrew.

 

Kevin shows up last, a sour twist to his mouth. Andrew almost wasn’t expecting him to show up. He’d almost pegged Kevin for a coward.

 

“Now what?” Seth asks, “We’re fucked.”

 

“No,” Andrew says, “We’re doin’ this. If we have to do it alone then we’ll do it alone.”

 

“Andrew’s right. If not today then when? If not us then who? We have to take a stand, here and now.” Kevin stands up a little straighter and locks eyes with Seth. “You’re either with us or against us.”

 

Seth’s ears go a little red at the tips and he looks down at the ground. “Of course I’m with you.”

 

“Good.”

 

“They’re unlocking the gates,” Matt says, “we gotta stop them from gettin’ the wagons on the streets.”

 

Inside the yard the Moriyama brothers were waiting for them, Tetsuji standing behind them and leaning on his cane. Rain slowly starts to drip from the sky, softly pattering the ground around them. “What’s it going to be boys?” Tetsuji asks, upon seeing them, “Have you come to do business, or shall we unleash the dogs of war?”

 

“That depends on your boss,” Andrew says, “Has he chosen to see reason?” 

 

“There will be other newsboys,” Tetsuji says, “some willing to pay twice what you will.”

 

“There won’t,” Matt says.

 

“We’ll chase them from the gates,” Seth adds.

 

“We’re not afraid of you,” Kevin says.

 

“You should be.”

 

Thunder booms distantly as the sky opens with a deafening roar, rain pouring down onto the streets of New York. A police officer appears, standing to the side of Tetsuji and holding a baton. 

 

“Last chance boys,” Tetsuji says over the din of rain.

 

“Go to hell,” Andrew says.

 

It all goes to hell at once. Lightning streaks across the sky in vicious arcs, the rain beating down so hard Andrew can barely see a foot in front of himself. He dodges a right hook from Ichirou and lashes out, his elbow connecting with Ichirou’s rib cage and making him wheeze.

 

He hears a curse from close by and sees Renee toss Riko over her shoulder into the gravel, a streak of blood dripping from her nose. 

 

Ichirou catches him with a kick and knocks him off balance. Andrew manages not to fall. He shifts his weight and catches Ichirou in the middle, taking him to the ground. There’s the distant sound of whistles, barely audible over the sound of rumbling thunder and torrenting rain. 

 

“Andrew!”

 

Aaron. That’s Aaron. Andrew turns to look for him. Aaron’s on the ground, cuffs around his wrists. And Proust, Proust is there standing over them. Proust has his brother. Andrew leaps to his feet but Kevin catches his arm. They’re throwing Aaron in the back of a wagon.

 

“Aaron!” It feels like his name is ripped from Andrew’s lungs. The shriek of it makes his body ache.

 

“We have to go!” Kevin says.

 

Andrew rips his arm away but Kevin shoves him, knocking him off balance. 

 

“Now, Andrew!”

 

“They have Aaron!”

 

“He’s gone! We have to leave!”

 

Aaron’s crutch lies abandoned on the ground. An officer steps on it and the fragile handle snaps.

 

“Now, Andrew,” Kevin pushes and Andrew punches him. He’s wild with it now, the need to save his twin, but the wagon is already gone and Proust is still here. Kevin’s nose is bloodied and his eyes are alight with anger. “Andrew!” 

 

Andrew grabs Kevin’s arm and darts down the alley Kevin had pushed him in the direction of. It seems to take a lifetime of running before Kevin yanks his arm back. Kevin reaches out for Andrew’s arm but Andrew jerks away. “Don’t touch me,” He snarls.

 

Kevin raises his hands defensively. “Andrew,” He says, too soft now.

 

“Don’t,” Andrew says, “This is my fault. I have to get Aaron back.”

 

“And we will, but first we need to figure out what we’re going to do and who else might have gotten arrested. We made a stand, even if it feels like we lost.”

 

“My brother is gone,” Andrew says, “I don’t give a shit about anyone else. I lost half my life in that fuckin’ place trying to get me and Aaron out of there and now they’ve taken him from me again. Everyone else, everything else, can rot.”

 

“Andrew-”

 

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear it.” Andrew storms off, heading in the direction of Bee’s theatre. He needs to get dry clothes, a warm drink, and then he needs to get his fucking brother back. 

 

Kevin finds him a couple of days later, hiding out in the basement of Bee’s theatre. After Bee had talked Andrew down from hunting down Proust and trying to single handedly pull Aaron from the Refuge she’d given him a canvas to work with and left him alone to think. 

 

Of all people Kevin’s got Neil fucking Josten with him, looking ridiculously handsome in a button down, vest, and black slacks. The bruise on his cheek has darkened a fair amount, and there’s another one blooming around his throat that Andrew barely spares a thought for. 

 

Neil tosses a copy of the  _ Sun  _ at Andrew. The headline reads  **Newsies Stop The World** in bold black print. “Thought I’d bring you a copy,” Neil says, “Since you don’t seem inclined to show your face to the rest of us.”

 

“No one asked for you,” Andrew says.

 

“I did,” Kevin says, “Figured if anyone might get through to you it’d be Neil.”

 

“I’ve gotten you some attention,” Neil says, “but I’ve attracted some unwanted attention to myself in doing so. This is the only headline we’ve got, as of today the papers are all forbidden from printing any more articles about the strikes.”

 

“So we’ve lost,” Andrew says, “and I lost my brother for no goddamn reason.”

 

“We haven’t lost yet,” Kevin says, “We’ve got Brooklyn now. Sonny Reynolds wants to talk to you, Andrew. She wants to get us all together. I just talked to Mrs. Dobson and she said she’d let us use the theatre for a meeting. All the newsies of New York in one spot.”

 

“So what?” 

 

“So you vote,” Neil says, “like unions do. You hold a meeting and you vote and majority rules on if you go through with the strike or not.”

 

“Fine,” Andrew says, “When?”

 

“Tomorrow night,” Kevin says.

 

“Tomorrow then,” Andrew says dismissively, turning back around to his canvas. He hears footsteps heading away from him and a door shut and assumes they’ve left him to deal with his grief the only way he knows how. Art is his heart laid bare, and he hates that they get to see this part of him. 

 

The rustling of papers pulls his attention away from the backdrop he’s painting for Bee. Neil is crouched over a nearby desk, shifting through some of his older drawings. A spike of panic and anger spears Andrew’s heart. “Put those down,” He says tonelessly. 

 

Neil does, though the look on his face is more calculation than pity. “Did you draw these?” Neil asks, “Is this what the Refuge looks like? Three boys to a bed? No clothes or blankets?” 

 

“That and worse,” Andrew says.

 

“I heard you got caught stealing clothes and food,” Neil says, “is that why Proust wants you so bad?”

 

“Shut up. Where did you hear that?”

 

“I’m a reporter. It’s my business to know things.”

 

“Not things like that.”

 

Neil shrugs. “Fine.”

 

“You’re impossible.” 

 

Neil shrugs again, but this time with a little smile. Andrew kind of wants to kiss him. He also sorely wants to punch him in his pretty mouth. He settles for turning his back to him. He only relaxes when he hears Neil walk away and the door shut with a soft click behind him.

 

Hours pass by while Andrew presses paint to canvas, a mountain scene of a place he’s never been to but he dreams of. Maybe after this mess is over Andrew can take Aaron and hop a train to Sante Fe and they can forget New York ever existed for them. He’s just switching out paint brushes when a tall blonde woman in heels and a blood red dress walks into the room. “Mr. Minyard,” She says, “My name is Lola Malcolm and I work for Nathan Wesninski. My boss would like a word with you.” 

 

Nathan Wesninski’s office is bleak and gray, tall windows cover the wall on one side and the rest is off puttingly bare. Wesninski welcomes him in with a wide wave, “Come in, boy, and take a seat. You and I have matters to discuss.”

 

Andrew does not sit. He stands in front of Wesninski nonplussed, hands in his pockets.

 

“A rebel,” Nathan muses, “That’s cute. My son was telling me that you’d be hard to break. You do know my son, don’t you Mr. Minyard?” The man smiles, a mean smile, and Andrew has a moment of deja vu.

 

A man walks Neil into the room, a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “Andrew, I-”

 

“Quiet,” Wesninski says, raising a hand. Neil flinches and Andrew suddenly understands who’s been putting those bruises on Neil’s face. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Mr. Minyard. My friends, the Moriyamas, have many stories to tell about you. How you think you’re above the law. How you act like you’re better than those around you. My friend Dr. Proust has many more interesting stories to tell.”

 

Andrew’s hands in his pockets clench into fists.

 

“Good,” Nathan says, noticing the tense lines of his shoulders. “Now I have an offer for you and I don’t think you should refuse it. Nathaniel told me about your little union meeting. When you go, and you will go, you will tell your friends that they are not to strike. That they will accept my gracious offer of only sixty cents per one hundred papers and I will be generous enough not to raise that rate for another full year. And if you do that, Mr. Minyard, I will allow your brother to leave the Refuge. I will even pay for you to leave this city and never look back.”

 

Andrew swallows around a lump in his throat, “And if I don’t?”

 

“Your brother has one lame leg, Mr. Minyard. It’d be a shame if he lost the other one as well.”

 

Alarm bells rang distantly in Andrew’s mind. “Fuck you,” He says.

Nathan’s smile widens. “I’ll allow you to think it over. You may spend the night in my basement while you mull things over.” He gestures behind Andrew and the Moriyama brothers step forward on either side of him.

 

Riko takes ahold of Andrew’s shoulder. “No struggling now,” Riko says, “We just know Proust is looking for a reason to have a little one on one time with your brother.” As they lead Andrew out of the office Andrew brings himself to look at Neil.

 

“Andrew, I’m sorry,” Neil says. The man next to Neil tightens his grip on Neil’s shoulder until Neil looks like he might crumble from the weight of it. Neil doesn’t break eye contact until Andrew leaves the room.

 

Andrew sleeps that night on an old printing press in Nathan Wesninski’s basement. He tries hard not to think about the way Neil had flinched when Nathan raised a hand to him, tries harder not to care. He dreams that night about a sea of words, and in his dream he drowns.

 

The Moriyamas let him out in time for the newsies meeting. Andrew makes his way to Bee’s theatre, head ducked down and trying think. He’s only got one option, really. He’d never had a choice at all. He’d do anything for Aaron, proven time and time again. He’ll hold his head on the chopping block and let the guillotine fall.

 

When he gets to the theatre the newsies are already mid-talk. Allison Reynolds presents him with her hand to shake. She’d used to be the child of millionaires until she’d told them she was a girl and decided that living on the street was better than being the person her parents were trying to force her to become. She was as strong as Andrew with hard eyes and a firm grip. “Good to have you here, Minyard,” She says after shaking his hand, “Let’s get this over with.”

 

Andrew nods and steps up to the podium. “After some deliberation I have decided not to go on with the strike.” The murmuring across the room suddenly goes icy silent. Andrew sees Matt’s jaw drop open and Kevin has to grab Seth’s arm to keep him from storming the stage. “The stakes are too high right now,” Andrew continues, “I have...conferred with Mr. Wesninski on the matter. The staying price will be sixty cents, and he won’t raise it for at least another year. Maybe in that time we can talk him back down again. I’ve said my piece.”

 

“Did you call me from Brooklyn for nothing?” Allison asks, storming up onto the stage, “Two days ago you were ready to take on the world.”

 

“Two days ago I asked for help and you did not come,” Andrew says, “and now my brother is gone and I have nothing left.”

 

“I didn’t peg you for a coward.” Allison snarls.

 

“I’m not a coward,” Andrew says, “I just know better than to gamble when my brother’s life is one on the line.”

 

“Wait, hold on a minute,” Kevin says, coming up the other side of the stage. “We still get a vote. Newsies in favor of a strike say ‘Aye’?” A few scattered ‘Aye’s made there way across the room. “Against say ‘Nay’?” Even fewer ‘Nay’s sounded off. Mostly everyone seemed silent and confused.

 

Andrew walks off the stage and Jeremy Knox walks on. Jeremy stops Andrew with a firm but gentle hand to the shoulder. “Do what you need to do, Minyard,” Knox says, “we’ll get this sorted out.”

 

Andrew shrugs him off and leaves to walk home in the dark. He’s only mildly surprised to see Josten hanging around his riser, looking guilty. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t toss you over the railing,” Andrew says. 

 

Neil jumps, startled at not hearing him come up the ladder. “I’d drag you down with me,” Neil says.

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Andrew asks, “Come here to lie some more?”

 

“I never lied to you.”

 

Andrew scoffs.

 

“I didn’t. I told you my pen name is Neil Josten and it is. That’s the name I publish under. No one would ever print me if I went by Nathaniel Wesninski.”

 

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

 

“You will or you won’t, but I am telling you the truth.” Neil looks away from him, “Aaron’s out of the Refuge. His girlfriend picked him up and took him to Harlem. Apparently her father is a doctor and wanted to give him a once over before letting him come home. I um-” Neil reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out an envelope and hands it to Andrew, “Father knew I’d come see you so he gave me this. It’s enough money to put you and Aaron on a train as far west as it’ll go.”

 

Andrew takes the envelope and runs a finger over the edge.

 

“If it counts for anything at all,” Neil says, drawing his attention back up, “I was rooting for you. I really thought that maybe someone could out fox my father for once. I, uh, I was hoping you could do it.”

 

“Why?” 

 

“My Father has gotten everything in life he ever wanted by muscling everyone else out of the way. I was hoping he’d finally found something too strong to push out of the way,” Neil shrugs, a little helplessly, “Kevin and I were talking about printing an article, something to give out to all the kids in the city, get the whole city in on the strike, but I understand if you just want to get Aaron and run.”

 

Andrew looks back down at the envelope in his hands and then back up at Neil. He places the envelope between his shirt and his vest. “Tell me your plan.” Neil grins and Andrew goes a little weak with the force of it. Not for the first time since meeting Neil he thinks about what it’d be like to kiss the smile from his mouth. Instead he reaches out and turns Neil’s face away from him. “I don’t have all night Neil.”

 

The idea is an article, one about unionizing all the kids in the city. Making working conditions a little safer for kids, giving them more reliable hours and pay. The idea is to have it out in the morning before the adults are awake, and by then the kids will have all stopped working. The city would grind to a halt and the adults would finally be forced to listen.

 

No paper in the city can run an article about the strike, but Neil’s already got an article written up, so all they need is a printing press. Andrew recalls sleeping on a printing press in Nathan Wesninski’s basement, so all they need is someone who knows how to run it. Neil tells him the plan while they’re walking back to Bee’s theatre, trying to catch Kevin before he goes home for the night. 

 

Andrew sees Matt and Kevin locking up the theatre and says, “We’ve got a plan.”

 

Matt swings around, wide eyed, “Minyard?” His eyes narrow, “You did a stupid fuckin’ thing tonight.” Kevin stops Matt with a hand to his arm.

 

“I did what I had to do,” Andrew says.

 

“Neil told you what we wanted to do?” Kevin asks.

 

“You’re batshit crazy,” Andrew says, “but yes, he did.”

 

“We need someone who can run a press,” Neil says, “and we need them now. We have to do this tonight.”

 

“You’re stayin’?” Matt asks Andrew, “You’re not leavin’ us?”

 

“I’m stayin’,” Andrew says, “For now. We need to finish this. Wesninski strong armed me but I can’t let him get away with that.” 

 

“Good.” Matt says, “Dan knows how to run a printing press. You just tell me where to go and we’ll meet you there.” 

 

Neil gives him directions and Matt thanks him. Before Matt leaves he leans down to whisper, “You always were a sucker for a pretty face, Minyard,” and darts out of the way before Andrew can punch him. 

 

Kevin runs off to find some newsies to be able to run their article in the morning, leaving Andrew and Neil alone again. “Hey,” Neil says once they’re alone, “I’m glad you decided to stick around.”

 

“Don’t start gettin’ sappy on me, Josten,” Andrew says, “we’ve got work to do.”

 

They meet up again as a group at Wesninski’s place. Matt’s accompanied by his fianceé Dan, a determined looking woman with a toothy grin and biceps that would give Matt’s a run for his money. She shakes Andrew’s hand and Neil’s and Neil lets them down into the basement to show her the machine. 

 

In no time Dan has the machine up and running. Kevin had run into Jean Moreau while spreading the news that the strike was still on and that they needed help, and Moreau had offered to help them with the lettering on the press. He and Dan move in efficient strokes and before long they have stacks of papers in front of them. Andrew and Neil bind the stacks and hand them off to newsies to distribute before sunrise. 

 

There’s little talk in the room, tension taut as a bowstring strung tight in the air. The printing press falls silent as the morning bell outside rings through the air. “It’s out there now,” Kevin says, breaking the silence. “All we can do now is wait.”

 

They gather their things and part ways before they can be spotted. Matt shakes Neil’s hand as they part and gives Andrew a knowing look before taking Dan home. Kevin leaves to let his father know what’s going on. Moreau leaves without a word, but does accept a handshake from Kevin before he goes. 

 

“Aaron should be home by now,” Neil says finally, when it’s just the two of them, “You should see him.”

 

“When your father finds out about this,” Andrew says, pushing past Neil’s suggestion, “what is he going to do to you?”

 

The color drains from Neil’s face and he ducks his head. “It doesn’t matter,” Neil says, “We did the right thing.”

 

“Stay,” Andrew blurts out. He doesn’t mean to, not exactly, but it’s out there now.

 

“What?”

 

“Stay,” Andrew says, “Stay with us. Let me watch your back. You don’t have to stay with him. Stay with me.”

 

Neil looks up, his brow furrowed in confusion or something like it. “Why?”

 

“Take it or leave it, Josten.”

 

“What’s in it for you?” Neil asks, “How would I pay you back?”

 

Andrew’s eyes drop down to Neil’s lips, “I’m sure you could think of something.” 

 

Neil is quiet for long enough that Andrew starts to feel a ball of nerves pool in his stomach. Then Neil smiles. “Okay,” He says.

 

Andrew doesn’t mean to kiss him, but Neil is right there and smiling and Andrew doesn’t know if he’ll ever have the chance again. Neil locks up at the first brush of lips and Andrew starts to pull back but Neil leans back in before Andrew can pull away. Andrew wonders if this is the first time Neil’s ever kissed someone. Neil gasps a little when Andrew pulls away and it tugs at Andrew’s gut.

 

“Oh,” Neil says after Andrew pulls back. Somehow his hands have ended up in Andrew’s hair. He looks a little dazed.

 

“Yeah,” Andrew says.

 

“I liked that,” Neil says distractedly, “I want to do that again.”

 

“Later,” Andrew says. It sounds like a promise and he means for it to. 

 

“Later,” Neil echoes and smoothes down the edges of Andrew’s vest.

 

Andrew goes home to Aaron hanging around the bottom slats with Renee and Seth. He’s a little bruised up from what Andrew can see, but there’s no lasting damage. Andrew puts his hand on Aaron’s neck and brings him in close, more trying to shield Aaron than an actual hug.

 

“Matt told me what you did,” Aaron says, “You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

 

“I did what I had to do to keep you safe,” Andrew says, “there is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

 

Aaron pulls away and looks at Andrew, eyes narrowed. “Okay,” he says eventually, “but that goes both ways, Andrew. Don’t get yourself into a mess I can’t get you out of.”

 

Andrew pats around his chest for a second and pulls out an envelope. “There’s enough money here to get us out of this city. We can be gone before Nathan Wesninski has time to drink his mornin’ coffee.”

 

Aaron stares at him. “This city is my home,” Aaron says, “I’m not leaving. That was your dream, not mine.”

 

Andrew scoffs, “And what’s here for you? Katelyn?”

 

“Yes,” Aaron says, “as much as you hate her, yes. And Renee. Matt, Seth even when he’s an asshole. Betsy too. Family, Andrew, my whole life is here.”

 

Andrew puts the envelope away.

 

“I think you want to stay, too,” Aaron continues, “but make the call, Andrew. Do what feels right.”

 

Later that day Andrew barrels into Nathan Wesninski’s office, holding a copy of the article in his hand. Wesninski starts at his desk, narrowing his eyes at Andrew. “Mr. Minyard,” He says, “What an unpleasant surprise. I don’t remember asking you here again.”

 

“You didn’t,” Andrew says, “I’ve got something to show you.” He sets the article down on Wesninski’s desk and watches the man pick it up, reading it over.

 

“Who allowed you to print this?” He asks eventually.

 

“Why you did, Mr. Wesninski. The article came from your very house.”

 

“The printing press in the basement. Very clever. I have no doubt my son had something to do with this.”

 

Andrew shrugs. “That’s not the only thing I wanted to show you, Mr. Wesninski. I’d like you to take a look out your window.”

 

Wesninski stands up and walks over to the windows, looking down onto the streets below. Hundreds of newsies are gathered in the streets, holding crumpled articles in their hands. They’re joined by other kids from all around New York, also holding articles and bellowing up at the  _ New York World _ . 

 

Wesninski tears his eyes away to stare at Andrew. “Clever,” He says after a moment, “but I cannot change the price back to what you are used to.”

 

“We’re not asking you to do that,” Andrew says, “We’re asking for a little heads up, to be notified before you make changes that affect the way we live. And for you to buy back any papers we don’t sell.”

 

“Buy back-”

 

“Yes,” Andrew says, “More newsies will be willing to spend more on papers if they know you’ll buy back what they can’t sell. The more papers they sell, the more money we all make, understand?”

 

Nathan gives Andrew a once over. “You could be a very shrewd businessman when you grow up, Mr. Minyard.”

 

“Understand?”

 

“Understood,” Nathan says, “Come by my office tomorrow morning and I’ll have my lawyer draw up the papers. And Mr. Minyard?”

 

Andrew raises an eyebrow, “Yes?”

 

“Do not come by my office unannounced ever again.”

 

Andrew salutes him, tapping two fingers to his temple before leaving. Outside he addresses the crowd, letting them know that they’ve won. Matt slings an arm over Seth’s shoulder and cheers uproariously as the crowd clamors around them. Around them all reporters are snapping photos and asking for interviews, but Andrew pushes them all away. 

 

Allison Reynolds is more than happy to talk to the press for him, and she drags Jeremy Knox up to her side to do so. Andrew moves through the crowd until he sees his brother leaning up against the wall. Katelyn is at his side, her hand on Aaron’s arm, though she drops it when Andrew spots them. 

 

Andrew inclines his chin at his twin and Aaron echoes the gesture back. Aaron is safe, and that’s all Andrew could ask for. 

 

“Andrew.”

 

Andrew turns and spots Neil, hair slicked back and blue eyes shining. 

 

“We won,” Neil says.

 

“We did.”

 

Andrew reaches out a hand and Neil falls into it easily. When Andrew kisses him it tastes like victory. 


End file.
